Believe In Me
by AiraEresse
Summary: Takes place during the sixth book...DON'T READ IF YOU HAVEN'T READ HBP YET! IT WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS IN FUTURE CHAPTERS!
1. Crying in the Dark

**Author's Note: Alright. I just finished HBP. And, after staying up more than 24 hours what with chores, going to Borders, waiting for hours, and then reading the book, I'm dead tired. But for those of you who have read the book, you'll understand why I was in such a state of shock, that I couldn't sleep. So I wrote this. First chapter of what I hope to be a long story of the HP characters and their reactions to the war and...other things...which I shall not name for those who have not finished the book. To those souls I say only this. READ IT! DON'T READ THIS FANFICTION ANY FURTHER! EVENTUAL CHAPTERS HAVE SPOILERS!**

**This chapter takes place DURING the 6th book...you'll get it, those who have read...**

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The Hog's Head. Not the most inviting tavern in the world, but then again, Nymphadora Tonks wasn't up for a rousing drinking song and loud companions this night. And so, the Auror, stationed in Hogsmeade to watch over the school, and most importantly, to her at least, Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. The last link she had to her cousin.

Although, that wasn't exactly true. There was another. But she gave an involuntary shiver at that thought and took another long drink of the fire whiskey in front of her. That door…wasn't quite open. She could hear his voice ringing in her ears, clear as a bell, and, despite the fact that she knew the words she imagined were scolding, she took comfort in the thought of his voice.

"_I'm too old for you Tonks," _he would say. _"It would never work. I'm dangerous."_

"The only thing dangerous between us is me about to hex you if you don't listen to your heart…" she muttered in a low voice, though the bartender was too sleepy and busy to hear her anyway. "It would work. If you would just let it. I know you feel the same way…I know it…"

She slammed the glass of fire whiskey on the table in her anger, the bartender glancing up in slight alarm. Tonks glared at no one in particular and drained the rest of the glass, threw a few coins on the table, and stormed out of the pub, hands in her pockets.

She walked. And walked. To nowhere in particular. She soon found herself on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, looking out at a depressing, run down old house. The Shrieking Shack.

Back in her own days at Hogwarts, the shrieking shack had been a place she visited on every occasion possible. Her friends and her had thought it funny, creepy, and quite an adventure. That is, if any of them had ever dared go closer than the front gate. But still, it was a dream, a shining star to wish upon when she was an innocent, naive teenager.

Although, it wasn't as though she was much less of a teenager now. Going on her fifth year out of school, Nymphadora Tonks could hardly be called a teenager now, and yet, she didn't seem to register as an adult either.

She knew she was just as good as any other adult…just a bit, different. Yes, she was childish at times, and extremely clumsy, and even her jokes were immature to a point. But still…She was an adult.

Hadn't she suffered the same loss as him? Hadn't she lost her cousin, won of those only Blacks who were not ancestry-concious? And he had lost his best friend. So weren't they equal? At least in that aspect. But why was she so off subject? After all, that wasn't why he had said no. But still, in her mind, the barrier between her and him was her childishness. She was sure of it.

And yes, she understood what his being a werewolf meant. But little things like that (despite that they were not that little), didn't bother Tonks. No, as it was, they merely made her more determined to make it work.

"I _know _he feels the same way as I do," she said quietly, barely audible enough for her own ears to hear.

She placed a hand on the gate, looking up at the tall, creaking house. Years ago, from this very spot, it had looked frightening and menacing. But now, she saw only sadness, a house as broken as she.

Doing something she'd never dared to do in daylight, surrounded by friends, she lifted the latch on the gate and let it swing open with a loud creak. She paused before walking forward, the sound of old, broken hinges reminding her so much of where it had happened. Number twelve…

She sighed and walked forward down the path to the Shrieking Shack. Or at least what had once been a path, for there was no trace of stones, only grass slightly less living than the rest of the yard, for there seemed to be old pieced of paving stones lost among the tall grass, matting down bits of it.

Struggling through the grass and weeds, she found her way to the rickety front porch. From a distance, she had always thought to herself that the Shrieking Shack must have once been a fine house, but its reputation for ghosts had seemingly chased away all those interested in living there. And yet…it didn't seem quite right now. Yes, the porch was old and rickety, but it didn't seem to have ever been stable, nor always have every plank in place. And the porch swing was broken, but how could a swing break down the middle like that? So perfectly?

Mulling over these things, she nearly forgot her reason for being there. But as soon as this thought came to her, all ideas of the Shrieking Shack vanished and she was left once again with the empty feeling of before.

She ran a hand through her mousy brown hair, sighing. Was it truly never meant to be? Was everything she had learned to depend on going to crumble and fall? She shuddered, swallowing a sharp sob. But then again, who was there to see her cry.

And Nymphadora Tonks, hugging her own arms against the night chill, cried.

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**Author's Note: So...first chapter, next will be Remus!**


	2. Nightmares Will Come

**Author's Note: Thank you to all who reviewed! Can you beleive how shocked and pleased I was to see thrity-six new reviews? Wow! And my chapters aren't that long...Well, here's chapter two, hope you like it. Mind you, I did write it at one o'clock in the morning...**

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He couldn't believe it. He was in shock. Here she was, enclosed in his arms, her head upon his chest. He tangled his hand in her hair, drowning in her scent, he touch. He grazed his other hand over her cheek, then over her closed eyelid. His heart melted, and he lost all reason as he lifted her face towards his own.

And then, the pain came. His back arched, and he lifted his face in pain, his neck elongating. And there it was. The full moon. How could he have forgotten? How could this have happened?

He tried to cry out, to yell at her to leave, but his voice had left him, and his hands, or rather, claws, were grasping her wrists so tight she could not have run, even if he told her to.

A fierce snarl burst from his throat as the transformation was complete, the remainder of his robes falling from him into a pile of rags upon the ground. She shrieked and pulled from him, but he would not let go. He howled and turned upon her, fangs barred…

"NOOOOOOO!" yelled Remus, as he fought for his eyes to open, and at once found himself in one of the old armchairs in number twelve, Grimmauld Place. He pushed the old blanket to the ground and stood up, wiping cold sweat from his face. He walked to the mirror, and saw nothing but his own careworn face. No snout. No fangs. He glanced at the window. The moon was new. Not nearly a full one yet. It had been a dream. That was all.

And yet, Remus could not shake the thought from his mind. The terror in her eyes. Her scream. What if that really….

"No," he told himself. "That will never happen. I'll never let it. It doesn't matter how much I lo-" He stopped, unable to bring himself to finish the word. To finish it would make it so much harder to walk away from. "How much I care about her," he said.

He walked into the hall and waved his wand, a glass appearing out of nowhere, filled with a dark amber liquid. He took a sip, and frowned. He'd never been one to drink much, but lately…Well, he'd drank much more than he ever had before, but not nearly as much as Sirius ever had. He took another gulp, ascending the stairs.

Her voice spoke in his ears as though it had just happened, though in reality, it was nearly a week ago.

'_Don't tell me you don't feel the same way Remus!" _she had said desperately, grabbing his sleeve as he attempted to walk away. _"I love you! Don't you…_" Her voice had faltered, and it had broken his heart. _"Don't you love me too?"_

And how had he responded? With a _"I'm too old for you. It would never work. I'm too dangerous…I don't love you."_ At those words, what was left of his heart had shattered into a thousand pieces, and he had turned his face away from her to hide his eyes, swimming in tears. He remembered her tearing from the room, holding her face in her hands, sobbing in anger and pain.

But what else could he do? He was too old for her; that was sure. He was thirty-six years old for goodness sake! And she was what? Twenty-three?

And then there was the fact that there was a war going on. For all either of them knew, it wasn't real love at all, just the desperate lust and passion between two souls at a time of despair and crisis. At least, that's what he told himself. That it wasn't real love at all. But he had never been good at lying to anyone, least of all himself.

And of course, he was a werewolf. Far too dangerous. And besides, he couldn't put her in that sort of danger, it would kill him just knowing she was at risk. He couldn't bear it.

Yes, much as hit hurt him to cause her pain, he couldn't make her think he felt the same way. Nothing good could come of it in the end.

He entered the drawing room and set his half empty glass down on a desk, sighing and picking up a leather bound tomb he'd been studying earlier. He then noticed another book lying on the desk. He'd seen Molly with it days ago, it was her photo album. She must have left it.

He set his book down and picked up the album curiously and opened to a page in the middle. There was the Order of the Phoenix, sixteen years ago. And on the opposite page, was the current one. He could see Arthur and Molly, as well as Charlie and Bill standing with them. And there was Dumbledore, and Sirius…This must have been taken before he died. And Kingsley, and Mundungus, and many others. And there, towards the right of the picture, was himself.

And she was beside him. He'd never noticed it before. The photo version of himself kept stealing glances at her, and she, in return, glanced at him every once and a while. He closed the book quickly, putting it back on the desk.

He picked up his glass again and drained it, shuddering slightly. He vanished the glass with a wave of his wand. More sleep, that's what he needed. But then again, more sleep meant more dreams. And more dreams meant more nightmares of himself hurting her…For ever since she had confessed her feelings to him, such nightmares had plagued his every moment asleep. He couldn't very well concoct a potion for dreamless sleep, for he never knew how long he would be able to sleep, or at what hours.

He ambled into his room, beside Sirius' old one, and fell onto the bed with a sigh. Any other man might cry in such a case, torn between anger and torment and fear. But Remus had already cried so many tears he seemed to have none left. And at times like these, he wish he had. For all his emotion was bottled inside him, and he had no way of letting it out.

And so he willed himself not to sleep. Not to even close his eyes. But really? How long could that last? Sooner or later, the nightmares would come.


	3. Meeting Myrtle

**Author's Note: First of all, thanks so much to my reviewers, I've never had thi smany reviews, I feel so special. However, that does mean more pressure…haha, well I hope I don't disappoint you with this chapter, despite the fact that there's no Remus or Tonks. No, now I go into different characters…(psst, this is your cue for a collective 'oooooooo')**

**Oh, and Black Slytherin Girl, Sirius was Tonks' second cousin. Andromeda was his first cousin. I hope that clears things up for you.**

**Also, you all seem to have a lot of really good ideas and opinions. So if anyone would ever like to discuss different HP ideas and theories, or just talk about the book, my AIM screen name is AnimeDork978. Also, I'm always up for some good Harry Potter roleplaying!**

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Draco sighed, climbing out of the prefect's tub and unplugging the drain. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, then dried off his hair and body before he pulled on his pants. He ambled over to the mirror tiredly, wiping off the mirror. But as he attempted to comb his hair back into place, he was surprised to see the reflection of something glimmering across the room, in the tub. 

He spun around. "Who's there?" he said, his voice something between anxiousness and fury. But he was too tired to act threatening. No one answered him. "I said, WHO'S THERE?"

"You don't have to yell," said a timid voice from behind him. He spun around and found himself almost nose to nose with a girl who had glasses and pigtails. A girl who was _transparent_.

He stumbled backwards in surprise. "You're…you're…How long were you there?" he said angrily.

She smiled. "Since you came in," she said. He though he saw a mischievous look in her eyes.

"Get out," he said, turning away, resuming the combing of his hair.

"You can't make me," she said, floating in front of him with a smirk.

He glared at her. "I said, GET OUT!" he shouted.

Her expression fell from amusement to…was it pity? "Why were you crying?" she asked quietly.

Draco dropped his comb, silent for a moment. When he willed his voice to speak, it was strained and angry. "I wasn't crying you twit."

"Yes you were," said the girl. "You're face was all wet."

"I was in the bath!" he yelled. "Of course it was!" He was growing angrier by the second. What right had she to come in and watch him bathe, then make fun of him?

"No," she said. "When you came in. There were tears on your cheek." She raised a ghostly hand to touch his face, but it only fell through, cold and clammy. Draco didn't notice.

"Were not," he muttered, turning away and drying his hair off some more with a towel before going back to combing it.

She floated around to face him again. "Why were you so sad?" she repeated.

"Get out!" he yelled again, but even so, his eyes began to fill with involuntary tears. "Get out and leave me alone!" She looked at him again with that look of pity. He hated it. "Get out of here!" he screamed as he felt a tear run down his cheek.

She didn't move, just looked at him sadly. She didn't even speak. He yelled again. "Didn't you hear me? Get OUT of here! Leave me alone!" He felt more hot, angry tears slide down his cheeks.

He couldn't even look at his own reflection. What a mess he must look. A sixteen, nearly seventeen-year-old _Death Eater_ crying his eyes out in a bathroom? What a sight.

He crumpled to his knees, clutching his face in his hands. "I…can't…do it…I'm not strong enough…I just can't do it!"

The ghost girl floated down beside him cooing softly. "Shhh…shhh… it's alright…You're fine…Just tell me what's wrong…"

"No," said Draco, still covering his face. "No, I can't…He'll kill me…I can't do it…I can't do it!" He shuddered.

"Shhh…It's alright," said the ghost.

Draco was trembling now, his hands shaking violently as he continued to cover his face. "No…no…he's going to kill me, I- I can't…" He looked up from behind his pale fingers, eyes bloodshot and face whiter than the ghost before him. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it on, followed by his robes. He snatched up the remainder of his things and tore from the bathroom, still shaking.

When he burst into the Slytherin common room a few minutes later, he found it nearly deserted, save his fellow sixth year boys and a few others, still hanging around in the common room. He stormed through the room so fast they couldn't see his face.

"Leave me alone," he said. "Don't come up until you're sure I'm asleep." He shed his robes and shirt once more, dropping everything onto the floor before flinging himself onto the bed and drawing the emerald curtains around him.

He had stopped crying now, though his face was still streaked with tears. He wiped them furiously with his palms, but those were just as tear stained, so he used his pillow instead.

He barely had thought to think of who that ghost girl had been, though he didn't really care. He seemed to recall a story Pansy had told him, about a ghostly girl who cried and haunted one of the broken girl's bathrooms. Maybe that was her. Her name was something odd. Like Crying Cathrine. Or Weeping Wilma…No, no it was Moaning Myrtle. That was it. Like it mattered.

He collected his thoughts, bottling his emotions back inside him. Where they belonged. It was at this moment the weight on the bed shifted. He hadn't even heard someone open the door, or the curtains to his bed. It was too dark.

A hand found its way to his hair and began to stroke it lovingly. "Are you alright Draco?" came Pansy's voice from the darkness. "Theodore said you were acting a bit strange."

"I'm fine," he said. "Just a bit tired."

"You're not _too_ tired are you?" she said, leaning down to kiss him. He turned his head away and her lips landed on the pillow.

"I'd really just like to be alone right now Pansy," he said. "Tired, stressed, you know."

"But I can help," she said, placing her lips on his neck, trying once again to seduce him. He nudged her away, a little more firmly this time.

"I said, I'd like to be alone," he repeated. She stood up and he felt the bed shift back to normal again.

"Oh, fine!" she said dejectedly, and left the room.

Draco turned over, drawing the curtains closed again before putting his hands behind his head and looking up at the ceiling in the darkness.

"I can't do it," he muttered. "I just can't do it…"

He felt the spot on his arm burn in his memory.

"But I have to."

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**Author's Note: Hehe...Draco's emo...haha...sorry, but I think that's a funny picture, Draco all emo...okay, anyway, didn't mean to ruin the mood. Hope you enjoyed!**


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